


Someone To Watch Over Me

by jive



Series: Tales from For Goodness' Cakes [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Cats, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Past Character Death, reaper76week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jive/pseuds/jive
Summary: A well-aimed — or perhaps unfortunately-aimed, depending on who you asked — bullet grazed the very edge of the prototype, and with a stuttering blink and electromagnetic hum, activated itself. The blue glow it let off only served to make itself a clearer target for the security system, and before Reaper could even drop the device, several bullets pierced it in the dead center of its glow. Rather than turning off or even smoking like Reaper expected it to, however, the device sparked menacingly, buzzing and humming in a frequency that made the nanites in his body swarm with unease. The Chronal Accelerator prototype buzzed and flashed once, twice, and then…FLASH!Day 7 of Reaper76Week - "Comfort"





	Someone To Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> A sidestory for [I've Got You in My Slice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7961578/chapters/18208633) , my Bakery AU. This story takes place right after Chapter 4, 'Come at the Pumpking, Best Not Miss'.

To the rest of the world, Jack Morrison died on August 1, 2070 in the explosion of the Overwatch Headquarters in Zurich, Switzerland. 

To the mercenary known as Reaper, Jack Morrison died on June 27th, 2077 during a retrieval mission of an Overwatch agent from a Talon base in Rouen, France.

Both events had been caused by an unexpected explosion. Both deaths Reaper had to witness with his own two eyes, helpless and unable to do anything but watch the love of his life lose the light in his eyes and embrace death in a tired resignation. 

Reaper recalls Jack Morrison's last words from his first death just as clearly as he does the second.

Just before the flames of the Zurich explosion had engulfed the both of them, Jack looked to him in anguish, and said, “You were right. I'm so sorry,” voice breaking in a way Reaper had never heard before. Even though he should have felt righteous and vindicated in that moment — after so many years of warning the Strike Commander about the potential of Talon agents infiltrating Overwatch and being dismissed — at having been proven right, Reaper recalled that all he had wanted to do in that moment was hold Jack close and assure him that everything would be all right.

“Thanks for everything, Gabe. I'll see you around,” Jack had laughed, his second set of last words ringing clear as a bell in Reaper’s mind. The broken visor and mask on Jack's face did nothing to hide the sadness and regret that no doubt flashed across his face just as the heavy reinforced steel doors slammed shut between them. Jack was sealed inside what eventually became his tomb not but moments later, while Reaper had to flee from the scene with the safely-retrieved, but unconscious Lena Oxton in his arms. 

Jack Morrison died on those two days, and Gabriel Reyes, his trusted confidant and devoted husband, had died along with him.

Yet here he stood as Reaper, in the research lab of the abandoned Overwatch Headquarters in Gibraltar, months later and still unable to put the past behind him. And how could he, when he was literally drowning in a living memory of the past at that very moment? Memories of all the times he had spent with Jack on that base haunted him at every turn, each one elicited in some way or another by the sight of something nostalgic and familiar scattered about the ruins. 

“Are you still moping?” a voice chided from behind him. 

Reaper didn't need to turn around to know that it was Sombra standing in the doorway, no doubt with a hand on her hip and the other waved in the air dismissively. 

“No amount of sulking is going to bring him back, you know,” she added, having the decency to sound a bit less sharp and tiny bit sympathetic.

A growl of irritation rumbled from him briefly before he went  back to ignoring her. Reaper was tired, in every sense of the word, and knew her well enough to not take the bait. He ignored her presence and resumed searching through the rubble to find what they had been tasked to retrieve. Talon intelligence had confirmed that the Chronal Accelerator prototype — the first incarnation and not the one Sombra had stolen to create her teleporter — was located somewhere in the empty husk of this base.

It was a tedious search, to say the least, made even more annoying by Sombra's inability to leave things well enough alone and constantly asking questions about miscellaneous things she had found in her search that always brought back one unwelcome memory or several. Had he known he was going to effectively be searching for the prototype on his own with almost no effective assistance, Reaper would have requested this retrieval be a solo mission. But, alas, he didn't. 

And so, Reaper settled for the next best thing. 

“You stay here and keep looking,” he growled after Sombra asked yet another inane question about Overwatch, punctuated by the nickname that had been reserved for only those closest to him, ‘ _ Gabe _ ’. “I'm going to the engineering lab to search.” Before Sombra even had a chance to voice her protest, Reaper disappeared in a swirl of nanite-infused smoke, Shadow-Stepping his way into the aforementioned laboratory.

Sure enough, he found what he had been looking for, albeit slightly cracked and buried beneath a pile of scrap that had definitely seen better days. Letting out a small noise of satisfaction, Reaper retrieved the prototype from beneath the broken and dented pieces of metal, careful not to disturb too much lest the auxiliary security system be activated. 

Unfortunately, he was not nearly careful enough in his game of pick up, as right when the prototype was about to clear the pile of scrap, it collided with a rusted edge of some sort of panel, sending the precariously piled mess of scrap toppling down in an undeniably loud banging crash. As he feared, the security system in the lab activated, and Reaper found himself at the wrong end of several turrets, all with their barrels aimed directly at him. He dissipated into his Wraith Form just in time to avoid the hailstorm of bullets flying from every direction, but made one grave error.

The Chronal Accelerator prototype was still in the line of fire regardless of what form Reaper took.

A well-aimed — or perhaps unfortunately-aimed, depending on who you asked — bullet grazed the very edge of the prototype, and with a stuttering blink and electromagnetic hum, activated itself. The blue glow it let off only served to make itself a clearer target for the security system, and before Reaper could even drop the device, several bullets pierced it in the dead center of its glow. Rather than turning off or even smoking like Reaper expected it to, however, the device sparked menacingly, buzzing and humming in a frequency that made the nanites in his body swarm with unease. The Chronal Accelerator prototype buzzed and flashed once, twice, and then…

**_FLASH_ ** !

Reaper found himself engulfed in a blinding light, his body and nanites twisting and tearing and folding in themselves and each other over and over again for what felt both like eons and milliseconds all at once. He felt both renewed and on his deathbed at the same time, some sort of in-between state where his consciousness was nowhere and everywhere all at once. He saw nothing and saw everything. He felt everything and felt nothing. It was nauseating and exhilarating and utterly terrifying.

But, at the very least, it wasn't anywhere near as disgusting as the feeling of puking out your insides in some unknown back alley in the middle of the night, and then watching the same black puddle of what was forced outside your body start oozing back into it through the soles of your steel-plated combat boots. Reaper spent several moments standing there, hunched and gasping for breath as his nanites scrambled to pull himself back together, doing his best to muffle the hissing and groaning slipping from between his gritted teeth behind the mask. When he finally felt himself whole again, he cautiously left the dingy alley, ignoring the angry hisses and yowls of the stray cats that no doubt called the alley their home as he passed them. He emerged from the darkness into the glow of a nearby street lamp, clueless as to where he was. 

He was sure of at least two things, though, 1) the Chronal Accelerator prototype was nowhere to be found, and 2) he was definitely not in Gibraltar anymore. If his brief cursory glance around told him anything, it definitely wasn't the same date as before, what with all the Halloween decorations to be seen hanging nearly everwhere the eye could see. 

In fact, he wasn't even sure he was in the same year anymore. Cars — old cars,  _ vintage _ , you could say — on  _ wheels _ — not hover tech — drove up and down the roads illuminated by streetlights fitted with what was undoubtedly some form of sodium light, given the shapes and warm glows. Even the store signs were extremely dated. No holo displays, no advertising omnics, and even the store sign of what appeared to be a bakery — what else could “ _ For Goodness’ Cakes” _ be, after all — across the street looked like a picture he'd seen in vintage magazines found in his grandfather's attic so many years ago.

Reaper’s eyes widened in surprise behind his mask when he saw a vaguely familiar street name hanging above a street sign that directed towards highway 101. He turned this way and that, each bit of strange-familiarity hitting him like a bolt from the blue. It looked different than how he remembered, but he was definitely in Los Angeles. To be more precise, he was in his old neighborhood, where he lived and grew up. At least, the physical location was. His heart beat with a nostalgic longing with each different-but-familiar neighborhood landmark he could see, but each time his mind chided him that this was not the neighborhood he knew. This was not his Los Angeles.

Especially not the strangely-named bakery, located right where Reaper remembered stood a cafe run by a family friend, an auntie who would always welcome him warmly and let him hang out after school. He frowned at the store sign; it was unfair of him to think that the bakery didn't belong there, as —  again he reminded himself — that this neighborhood was not  _ his _ neighborhood, but he couldn't help himself from feeling a bit of resentment and hostility at its presence.

He was knocked out of his thoughts by a rather loud gasp from behind him.

“Oh, wow, what an awesome costume!” a voice behind him shook Reaper out of his nostalgic reverie. A nagging pang in his head recognized the voice as someone familiar, but he didn't think too much about it. At least, not until he turned around. 

His breath caught in his chest and his heart nearly jumped into his throat at the sight of the stranger who had complimented him.

There, in front of him and not even ten yards away, stood the spitting image of Jack Morrison, a man he knew for certain died half a year ago. But the man before him looked far too young to  have been the man who died in Rouen and left him behind. If anything, the lookalike in front of him was the spitting image of the Jack Morrison he knew oh so many years ago, the one who helped Gabriel Reyes form the Strike Team that ended up saving the world from the omnic crisis, the one whose smile could brighten an entire room, and the same one who jumped into his arms screaming, ‘ _ Yes yes yes _ !’ when Gabriel Reyes finally proposed six months after the first Omnic Crisis was declared over.

Reaper couldn't believe his eyes. Surely they were deceiving him! Perhaps wishful thinking was projecting the image of Jack Morrison onto this random stranger, dressed in an outfit eerily similar to the motorcycle jacket and battle fatigues ensemble — albeit completely red and black — that the man in question used to wear.

“Oh, wow, you even did a mask too! Holy cow, look at all the detail on you! You could have given even Gabriel a run for his money in the costume contest!” the Morrison lookalike laughed cheerfully. “You look so badass! What is your costume from, exactly? Is it animé?”

Closing his eyes and shaking his head minutely, Reaper hoped that his vision would clear and he would see what the stranger actually looked like without his mind playing tricks of him. It was a fruitless effort, however, as when Reaper had opened his eyes again, nothing had changed. The spitting image of Jack Morrison, albeit decades younger, was still standing there, grinning and looking at him with an amused glimmer in his eyes.

But not for long, the cheerful expression on the doppleganger’s face quickly changed to that of concern the longer Reaper stood there, quiet and unresponsive.

“Are you all right?” he asked, “Are you lost? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Reaper shook his head no, and said nothing more, brain still reeling from its confusion to piece together anything coherent to say. For a few moments more, the both of them simply stood there, staring at each other until the other man broke the silence.

“Um, well, do you want to come inside, and sit down then, at least?” he asked, gesturing across the street, to the bakery with the ridiculous name. “I'm Jack, the owner of the store. C’mon, let's get you inside so you can at least get your bearings.”

The sound of that name brought Reaper to a sudden halt, the shocking revelation that this man not only looked like Jack-  _ his _ Jack, but also had the same name hit him like a deluge of ice water. He froze, images of Jack during his last moments — both in Zurich and in Rouen — flashing before his eyes and putting a stop to his heart. 

Once again, the other man's voice-  _ Jack's _ voice pulled him out of his thoughts. 

“Hey, are you okay? Is something wrong?” Jack rushed over, hands hovering close to Reaper’s own as if unsure as to take them and tug him aside, or leave him, as common courtesy said he should in regards to invading personal space. 

Reaper nodded in affirmation, and Jack let out a small sigh of relief. “That's good,” he murmured, still hovering awkwardly until Reaper continued walking towards the store. 

Jack unlocked the door and held it open to usher Reaper inside. “Come in. Have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

Although Reaper took his seat at one of the cafe tables and shook his head, he found himself faced with a cup of coffee in front of him anyway, a small pitcher of what looked to be cream and a sugar dispenser placed nearby. Though it smelled rich, fragrant, and likely tasted as good as it smelled, Reaper left it untouched, doing little more than staring into the dark liquid as his mind tried to wrap itself around his current predicament and come up with some sort of a solution ...assuming there even was one.

The chair across him was pulled back, and Jack sat himself down, worry coloring his expression and his own cup of coffee placed on the table in front of him.

“Hey, are you sure you're all right?” Reaper never could stand to see Jack looked so worried or concerned about him, and this Jack was no different. 

“Just peachy,” he rasped. 

Jack nearly jolted in shock, no doubt surprised at hearing him speak for the first time.

“Oh! You do speak!” he blurted, before quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. “Ah, sorry. I didn't mean to assume or imply anything, you just… never said a word to me at all before is why. I wasn't sure if you were mute and didn't want to make you feel awkward.” 

Jack smiled apologetically, wringing his hands in nervousness — yet another trait he shared with the Jack Reaper used to know. The more he looked at Jack, the more his heart ached in recognition. This was most definitely Jack. Perhaps not his Jack, but still Jack, nevertheless- likely this world's version of Jack. And if there was a Jack here, then perhaps…

Was there a version himself here as well, of Gabriel Reyes? If so, then what would happen if the both of them were to meet? Did Reaper’s presence here mean that something had happened to the Gabriel of this world? What was this world's Gabriel in relation to this world's Jack? Did they know each other? Had they even met? What if, in this world, Jack didn't even know Gabriel even existed? What if-

Realizing Jack was still staring at him in curiosity, he quickly abandoned his runaway train of thought. 

“Is there something on my face?” Reaper asked, and once again, Jack jumped in his seat in surprise.

“Oh, no! I was just… admiring your costume is all. I've never seen anything like it, that's all. You never did tell me where it's from, after all.”

Reaper let out a small laugh, and replied, “I would be very surprised if you had seen this look before. It's... an original design, so to speak.”

“That would explain it,” Jack smiled, taking a sip from his coffee. His eyes drifted down to Reaper’s neglected cup, and he frowned slightly. “Not a fan of coffee? I can get you something else, if you want.” He gestured behind him towards the counter and the steel door behind it that no doubt led to the kitchen.

Reaper shook his head no. He briefly contemplated taking a sip just to appease Jack, but realized that would require removing his mask. A sight that would no doubt send Jack fleeing in terror. He could have used his nanites to fix his appearance, but if there indeed was a version of Gabriel Reyes in this world, and Jack indeed knew him, then that would have caused even more problems that Reaper needed to deal with. 

A sudden realization dawned on him. Hadn't Jack mentioned a ‘Gabriel’ before? 

“You said your friend Gabriel was in a costume contest?” Reaper asked, quickly changing the subject.

Jack seemed to roll with it with no issue, however, as a smile made its way into his face. Reaper felt his heart clench for a brief moment, but forced himself to ignore it, more interested in what Jack had to say that made him smile so sweetly.

“Yeah! Gabriel is really talented! He apparently makes his costumes by hand every year! This is my first Halloween in LA, so I can't really tell you what costumes he made before, but this year he dressed up as the Pumpkin King!” Jack answered excitedly. He fished his phone from his pocket and fiddled with it for a few moments before holding up the screen for Reaper to see. “Amazing, right?!” 

Amazing was one way to describe the picture, yes, but the only word that popped into Reaper’s head was ‘ _ unbelievable _ ’. Shown on the tiny screen was a picture of Jack himself standing besides a girl — the spitting image of a young Fareeha Amari, no older than 8 years old, perhaps — and the spitting image of himself, Gabriel Reyes, except at least 20 years younger, decked out in the very same Pumpkin King costume he had worn oh so many years ago. 

Reaper could only nod as a lump formed in his throat, and a storm of emotion began to swirl and churn inside his chest. There was indeed a Gabriel in this world, as well as a Fareeha Amari. This world's Gabriel knew Jack. The both of them were friends. Just friends, or something more? 

The brief expression of fondness on Jack's face as he took another look at the screen before putting his phone away told him enough. They might not have been something more than friends, but there was definitely some desire on Jack's part that he wanted to be. After all, Reaper recognised the same look on Jack's face as he did back when he and his Jack were still dating, whenever Jack stealthily read the messages Gabriel sent him via communicator even though they were in the same room together.

Jealousy crept its way into Reaper’s heart. With no Overwatch and no Talon to speak of, this world's Gabriel and Jack no doubt stood a better chance at ‘forever’ than his Jack and himself ever did. They didn't have a war to deal with, a crisis to end, an international organization to run, and a United Nations to directly answer to. It wasn't fair. 

And yet…

Reaper couldn't find himself harboring such negative emotions for long. Life had dealt his Jack and himself a completely different set of cards than this Jack and this Gabriel. It wasn't their fault that their future looked brighter than Reaper’s ever did with his Jack.

“Not bad,” Reaper replied rather neutrally, and Jack laughed at that.

“I'll be sure to pass that criticism along, then,” Jack smiled, finishing the rest of his coffee.

Just then, a loud clatter was heard coming from outside the store, somewhere beyond the steel door that led into the kitchen.

“Oh!” Jack exclaimed quietly, as if a realization suddenly dawned on him. He got up from his chair and held up a pointer finger. “Sorry, I seem to have forgotten something! Give me just a few moments to go take care of it. I'll be right back!”

Reaper shrugged and nodded, and Jack took that as his cue to go handle whatever it was he needed to do, most likely something related to the metallic crash that just occurred.

A few minutes turned into several, and before long, Reaper had grown as curious as his coffee had grown cold. Quietly, he got up from his chair and peeked into the kitchen. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Even though he knew he probably shouldn’t, he went deeper inside, letting the door swing closed behind him. Neither Jack nor anything unusual was to be seen, and just as Reaper was about to leave, he heard Jack's voice.

“C’mon, guys, you need to learn to share and slow down, or you're going to make yourselves sick!”

Curious, Reaper headed towards the sound of Jack's voice and eventually found another open door, this one leading to the alleyway behind the store and propped open to let the light from outside flood into the dimly lit kitchen. Reaper could swear he heard meowing and hissing the closer he got to the door, and sure enough, when he peered outside, he was greeted with a sight that had his heart clenching once more.

There, in the alleyway, was Jack, crouched in front of several small dishes of what appeared to be wet cat food, and around him, were several, if not at least 10 different cats, all either eating from the dishes or just lingering nearby, doing whatever cats did when they weren't eating or sleeping. 

Jack himself was preoccupied with a few other cats, clearly more interested in Jack himself than the food being offered to them if the ways they were climbing and pawing and purring at Jack were any sort of indication. 

An orange cat- a rather scrawny orange cat meowed at Jack and swatted at Jack's knee with one of its white paws, and laughing, Jack picked it up, bringing the cat's face level with his own and laughing. His Jack had always loved cats, and it was abundantly clear that this Jack was no different.

The look of sheer joy and contentment on Jack's face had Reaper’s heart aching all over again, simultaneously breaking at the memory of his own Jack being lost to him forever, and being stolen all over again by that smile made warmth and sunlight. He longed to see his own Jack smile like that once more, but given that wasn't an option — hadn't been for a long time — he took what he could get, indulging himself in the sight of this Jack at ease and enjoying himself, the spitting image of the one he longed for.

For a while, time felt as if it stood still, and when Reaper felt like he could take no more of the simultaneous feelings of love and grief warring inside of him, he took his leave. He shifted his mask just long enough to quickly down the now-cold, but still tasty coffee, scribbled a note that read ‘Thank you’ to be weighed down onto the table by the empty cup, and left the bakery, the bell chiming behind him as he vanished.

The bell's ringing suddenly brought Jack to his senses, and quickly but carefully, he set all the cats that had climbed atop him down on the ground and scrambled inside, ready to apologize to his guest. However, when he got inside, the stranger in the mask was nowhere to be found, and the sign on the door had been flipped to show ‘Closed’ when looking in from the outside. 

A pang of guilt hit him briefly until he saw the note the stranger left, and Jack wondered if he would ever see him again. The stranger never showed his face or told him his name, but there was something about him that gave Jack a strange feeling of familiarity the entire time the stranger was there. He couldn't explain it, but he felt like he knew him.

Sighing and hoping the stranger didn't write him off as rude and neglectful, Jack dutifully cleaned off the table before heading back into the kitchen to finish his business with the cats as well as review his list of things needed for tomorrow, when the store opened up once again.

The next day was nothing short of routine and boring, the same thing as usual. He couldn't complain, what with the steady flow of customers and regulars, but there was a small part of Jack that craved something different, something special.

He got his wish later that day, when he went to feed the alley cats once more.

As he set down the last dish of food, a cat he had never seen before approached him. With fur as black as night and distinct white markings on its face that almost looked like a skull, the strange cat caught Jack's attention immediately. It meowed at Jack as it approached, clearly more interested in Jack himself than the food. It rubbed up against Jack's legs, meowing and purring all the while.

“Hey, little guy, where'd you come from?” Jack asked, amused and curious. He bent down to get a closer look, and the cat all but leapt into his arms, purring the entire time. A red collar could be seen around the cat's neck, and Jack immediately checked the tag, wondering who this affectionate cat belonged to. To his surprise, there was no address on the back, but on the front, clear as day, read what was undoubtedly the cat's name. 

“‘Reaper’, huh? What a fitting name,” he laughed.

 

Reaper couldn't say that turning himself into a cat was exactly the best idea he ever had, but given the situation, he couldn't exactly think of anything better. He couldn't exactly go about living like he did before as the mercenary Reaper. But neither could he continue his life as a normal human. There was already one Gabriel Reyes in this world, there was no place nor need for another. 

It was foolish of him, but at the very least, this way he could find some sort of comfort in spending the rest of his days with Jack, even it wasn't the way he had ever expected when he said his wedding vows. He could watch over this Jack from nearby, and make sure he found the peace and joy that his Jack was never able to. Call him sentimental and selfish, but he was going to make sure that the story of Jack and Gabriel in this world would at least have some sort of a happy ending.

 

_ You'll forgive me if I make you wait a little longer to see you again, right, Jack? It's for your sake, after all. _


End file.
